Curve Struck (A Celebrity Stepbrother Romance) (5 page)

Exiled to the loveseat, Melanie woke her iPad and dug out her art stylus from the bottom of her bag. Opening a drawing application, she started to sketch, the lines seemingly random and angry with the way her wrist whipped her hand across the screen.

Art was the only thing she could ever concentrate on when her mind was in turmoil. Not just lines on paper or pixels on screens, but the physical manifestations of her drawings, especially the costumes. Despite having her blood in a boil over Declan's arrogance and rude behavior, she managed a small smile as she remembered the first fancy dress of her mother's that she had altered -- completely without her mother's permission, of course.

She had been six. The dress had been layer upon layer of some gauzy material she hadn't yet learned the name of. With no access to needles and thread, she'd used scotch tape to piece her creation together. Lots and lots of scotch tape.

Her mother had been horrified and it had been Melanie's first lesson that when mommy said "yes," or "okay" while her nose was in a book, it really meant "not now."

Her father had bought her mother a replacement dress, but he had also taken Melanie to a fabric store and found someone to give her sewing lessons and then, for her seventh birthday, he bought Melanie her very first sewing machine.

The small smile she had nurtured grew bigger but also turned sad. She missed her father, even if he had always put her mother first. Being George Archer's second best girl was still more than most daughters got from their fathers.

More than most women got from any mean, really.

Returning to the cabin, the flight attendant stopped in front of Declan. Forcing herself not to look, Melanie kept her eyeballs glued to the plump female archer who was finally emerging from the lines she had been laying down.

Over the low mechanical hum of the plane at cruising altitude, she heard Declan talking to the woman, the words haphazardly reaching her ears and in too small a quantity to make sense.

Out...cabin...PA...remainder...flight...

Studiously avoiding turning her gaze toward the front of the cabin, Melanie saved the file, closed the drawing app and imported the sketch into a painting app. She fiddled with colors, trying to decide on a palette for her archer, something that would be both strong and feminine.

Absorbed in the process, she didn't realize Declan was heading toward her end of the plane until he was a few feet away. She pulled her outstretched legs closer to the loveseat, absently glancing to her right where the door to the restroom was located.

Declan slid onto the loveseat next to her.

She dropped her art stylus, the slim pencil like device landing on the curve of her stomach. She grabbed at it, fumbled and sent it tumbling toward Declan.

Capturing the stylus, he half-offered her to it, the look in his eye and the shape of his mouth threatening to play a game of keep away.

No, no, no, no. What the hell was he doing? She needed him to ignore her, for her own sake.

The half heard words came back to her.

Out...cabin...PA...remainder...flight...

"You ordered her away?" she asked about his conversation with the flight attendant.

"Yes," he said and tucked the stylus behind his ear, confirming her suspicion he had no intent of returning it to her any time soon.

"Why?"

Her brain couldn't come up with a reason. A very specific reason would have occurred to her if he'd been giving a ride to Cammie, who was curvy and thick but not nearly as big as Melanie, or to one of the starlets on set who were always trying to capture his attention. But she wasn't one of them and there was no reason for him to send the attendant away for the duration of the flight.

"Why?" she repeated.

"We have some things to discuss."

His face was as cryptic as his answer. The gray gaze was smudged with an uncharacteristic softness, but his mouth was a thin, stern line.

"About our parents?"

With the movie and its promo done, they had nothing else connecting them.

He chuckled grimly. "You mean Sir Roger Ivory and your mother? I don't plan on ever thinking of them again."

His shoulders lifted and his mouth pinched forward. "No offense to your mother. She seems perfectly fine."

Melanie could have dwelled on the lukewarm compliment for hours, but she didn't.

"Seriously, if it's what I said about Wikipedia and TMZ, I was just trying to figure out why you were looking at me like that."

She shifted in her seat, his body too close to let her turn and stare him directly in the eye, but she tried to. "I want you to know I would never, ever, ever do that."

Declan said nothing for a few seconds. His lips twisted in strange contortions, her stomach knotting in equal turns as worry built inside her over the reply he was clearly holding back.

"Looking at you like what?" he asked at last.

She blinked as she remembered the look. He had seemed so remote and she had felt so small, despised even.

"I really don't want to say it, please."

She drew her bottom lip in, chewing at it mercilessly to keep from blurting out an answer.

Or a question -- like what had she done that truly deserved his disdain?

All through Declan's short interrogation of her, Melanie had kept her hands wrapped around her iPad. He took it from her and gently slid it into the bag, followed by the stylus he had tucked behind his ear.

Reaching up, he placed the pad of his index finger against her bottom lip and slowly pulled it free from her bite.

"You do that during fittings sometimes," he murmured.

Her first reaction was surprise that he had ever looked at what she was doing. But then it occurred to her that, of course, he had to look occasionally. He was an actor, a good one, maybe even a great one if she could peel her eyes and thoughts away from his body long enough to study his application of craft. And paying attention to what people did and how they did it was part of being a good actor.

"You're doing it now because I upset you," he said, the contemplative tone almost soothing to her. "But why do it at fittings?"

That was another question she didn't want to answer. Declan was the only person she had to help dress who made her bite at her lip. All the times before that moment on the plane could be characterized as unsuccessful attempts to quell a building hunger for the man sitting next to her.

Shaking her head, Melanie refused to answer.

"If it's not about Roger or my mother or my telling anyone, what do we have to talk about?"

Twisting against the loveseat, Declan planted one arm behind Melanie and stared intently at her, his head cocked to the side. His appraising gaze didn't remain in one location and only occasionally lingered -- stopping once at the quiver of the bottom lip she was no longer biting, again at the curve of her neck, then a little lower when he reached the breasts that had started to swell, their two hard tips aching for his notice.

She tried to pull back, but he'd left her nowhere to go. He had that look on his face, the one she'd seen so many times in the mirror during fittings and scene changes, that look of self love that she'd found so narcissistic -- like he was literally drowning in his own image.

Shaking her head as he began to lean closer, Melanie placed her hand against his muscular chest and pushed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Hearing the mounting hysteria in her voice swept Melanie closer to true panic.

Declan slowed his forward progression, his dark blond brows crinkling at her while his eyes glittered like diamonds on a cold winter's day.

"All the times I must have looked at you like this and you're just now asking me?"

She shook her head again, more wild and emphatic than before. "It's not like you did out in the terminal. That made me--"

Not wanting to remember how she had felt like something Declan needed to scrape off his shoe, she swallowed down the rest of her explanation.

"You're looking at me like you look at you."

Confusion corkscrewed his features.

"In the mirror!" Her other hand joined her first to rest against his chest. She didn't push as she had before, his bewildered state contagious.

"Oh," he smiled absently, his brows lifting. "What mirror?"

"On set!" she growled. Was he being intentionally obtuse? Was tormenting her his in-flight entertainment? Didn't they have a damn movie he could watch instead?!

"You're talking about when we're both standing in front of it...like yesterday?"

The grin edging his lips whipped through her. Suddenly the angry heat that had built in her chest was nothing more than a flickering candle in the wind compared to the inferno that roared and danced between her thighs at his smile.

How many times had she brushed off his interest in the mirror's reflection as nothing more than the self-absorbed preening of a male -- thinking he was no better than the muscle-bound morons lined up at the gym insisting they had to keep their eyes on their reflections to make sure their form was perfect?

A dozen times or dozens of times?

The dream on the flight into Denver plucked at the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Had she subconsciously known all along?

Not possible, not fucking possible...

She pushed at his chest, shaking her head. "I don't know whether you just like being cruel or you think this is the perfect way to get back at your da...at Sir Roger or maybe you just think you need to put me in my place."

"You're already perfectly positioned," he mused, the dreamy quality of his voice making her shrink further into the loveseat's padding.

"Positioned for what?" she demanded to know.

"This." Sneaking his hand between her arms, he captured the rounded bottom of her chin, tilting her head upward as he leaned over her.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

"Because I want to." He brushed his lips softly across hers, nothing hard or demanding in the gesture. "Because I've wanted to for months, Melalee."

She had silently balked at his shortening her name to the masculine Mel when he remembered who she was on set. She didn't like Melalee any better. Her mother used it to soften her up and he knew it.

"You're lying!"

As soon as the accusation left her, she mashed her lips together, tension trembling along the thin line as she tried to defend herself from a second brushing of his mouth against hers.

"Let me kiss you and you'll know that I'm more serious than I've ever been."

Her nose stung at the glib line so expertly delivered. She blinked, the sharp sting traveling to her eyes almost instantly. She wanted to punch him, but there was no space between them for her to haul her hand back before delivering the blow.

So she pinched, then sharply twisted, his nipple.

"Ow..." he pulled back, his gaze going wide before he broke into laughter. "I'm going to remember that when you're all soft and liquid beneath me, baby girl."

"That," she promised, using the space that had opened between them to stand and move toward the front of the plane. "Is never going to happen."

If she could have strapped a parachute to her back and jumped off the plane at that very moment, Melanie would have. But such an escape wasn't possible. She was stuck with Declan until they landed.

Thankfully, he retreated to his earlier seat, although he wore a smug grin as he summoned the flight attendant into the cabin with a request for a snack.

Melanie tried to ignore both of them, but meekly said she would like a water when the stewardess drew near. Cheeks flaming, she watched the woman disappear and wondered if she had any inkling as to what had happened in her absence.

"You're a bit ruffled, Melalee," Declan teased, his fingers dancing to indicate her hair was a mess.

Great! The flight attendant probably thought Melanie had done something with him -- something more than evading his attempt to kiss her.

Grabbing her bag, she dove into the restroom before realizing she had just made herself look ten times more culpable by trying to tidy up her appearance. He had probably anticipated the overreaction, too! Maybe what he'd said on the loveseat was just part of the setup to make her self-conscious later.

Pulling her long, auburn hair into a quick pony tail, she returned to her seat with a scowl, grabbed her stylus and iPad and tried to appear deep in concentration when the woman returned with Declan's fruit tray and Melanie's water.

She kept the scowl on her face for the rest of the flight, her tongue dancing in her mouth as she batted down swear word after swear word, all of them centered on what a jerk her new stepbrother was.

Focus on that, she thought. He was family now, even if he hated her. She wasn't allowed to lust after him anymore -- so she wouldn't.

Yeah, right. Easy for the rational part of her mind to decide. That section of her brain was dry, logical and cold as a tomb. Her pussy, on the other hand, was warm, wet, and twisting with the memory of his lips on hers and his erotic threat concerning what he would do to her after he'd made her climax.

The captain's voice chirped over the intercom before Melanie's thoughts could begin to linger over the image of Declan's threat, his fingers plucking at her nipples or maybe a more delicate area made raw by him fucking her.

"We will begin our descent shortly," the captain announced. "Please put any cellular services in airplane mode and prepare for landing."

She double checked her cell phone even though she hadn't pulled it out since preparing for take off. She put her tablet and stylus away and zipped her bag up tight so she could make as quick a getaway from Declan as possible once the wheels hit the ground.

Sweating through another fifteen minutes until they were on the ground and at a stop, Melanie had to choke down a relieved cheer when the flight attendant reappeared. Grabbing her backpack, Melanie headed straight for the woman to collect her rolling suitcase.

"Have you forgotten the ride to LAX?" Declan asked, uncoiling from his seat to stand directly behind her, his face tilted down to whisper the reminder in her ear.

Adrenaline and something else spiked through her as she checked the time on her phone. A little over an hour remained before her original flight was supposed to land. If she had a cab already waiting at the current airfield, she could have made it to baggage claim before Cammie with a good fifteen minutes to spare.

"Is there a taxi stand?" Melanie blurted as the stewardess pulled her bag out and extended the handle.

The woman stared at her like she'd sprouted a third eye before recovering and politely shaking her head. "I could see if--"

"No need, Kelly," Declan interrupted, his hand wrapping around the handle of Melanie's suitcase. "Miss Archer is forgetting I already arranged a car to pick us up."

The woman nodded absently then a look of suspicion settled over her face. She glanced from Declan to Melanie and back again.

"Right," Melanie lied in Declan's direction, her warm cheeks flaunting how badly she sucked at even the smallest falsehood. "I just didn't want to keep you tied up any longer than necessary."

She blinked at the poor choice of words but the flight attendant had already turned away, no longer willing to risk her job for someone who didn't want helped.

"Out we go," Declan nodded, his hand landing on her hip. "You first."

She tried to maneuver away from his touch as she reached the small staircase attached to the plane. He deftly adjusted each time, never losing contact but ending with his hand firmly molded around her ass cheek as she reached the asphalt.

"Stop it," she growled under her breath as the chauffeur finished loading Declan's bags and trotted over to retrieve her rolling case.

"This, too," Declan said, slipping her backpack off her shoulder and handing it to the man.

Smoothing a lock of hair back to expose her ear, Declan whispered into it. "Don't want anything between us on the drive."

Before she could change her mind, the chauffeur had the trunk closed and was holding the door open for her. She turned, gave Declan a hard stare that warned him against any monkey business then climbed inside the limousine. He slid in after her, graceful despite his longer frame.

Declan said nothing until the driver got behind the wheel. Right before he raised the tinted glass partition separating them from the driver, Declan told the man to proceed to the baggage terminal for JetFly at LAX.

"That needs to go back down," she protested, reaching for the remote control.

Grinning, he tucked the device behind him.

"Juvenile jackass," she hissed.

"No, sticking it down my pants would have been juvenile," he countered, lips pursing despite the smile. "This is just a little harmless teasing."

"Sure, if you get to define harmless." Throwing her arms across her chest, Melanie slid all the way down the bench seat to hug the other side of the vehicle.

"Funny how you were supposed to be out of my life by now but aren't."

The words and his tone drew her gaze to Declan. His hands were folded in his lap, his attention focused on them. He seemed to be in a confessional, thinking deep thoughts as emotion slowly leaked from the edges of his expression. His hand ticked upward to stroke a finger just once along the bridge of his nose between his gray eyes.

"Whatever improvisational acting you're doing right now, cut it the fuck out," she barked. "I'm not impressed."

"Improvising?" His tone hardened and she flinched. "Is that what you think I was doing last night when I first saw you in the kitchen?"

It had to be you...

Those five little words and the look on his face had made her feel like scum. Why on earth, finding out he now had a stepsister, did it have to be that much worse because it was Melanie? How was she in any way that bad of a person, especially when he barely knew her!

"No, you weren't acting then. You were staring daggers at me -- that was all too real. This..." she stopped and waved wildly at his butt hurt posture. "This is fake."

"If you're so sure, kiss me," he said, reviving his earlier challenge. "Or do you think I'm that good of an actor?"

Her nostrils flared and her lips grew thin. It didn't matter if he faked the kiss. If she let him get that close, get that much into her intimate space, she'd lie to herself seven ways to Sunday about how it all felt so real that it must be genuine. With his earth-sized ego, that was likely part of his plan.

Declan slid along the seat until a foot or less of space separated them. Slowly, he reached his hand out then slid it behind her neck.

"Come on, Melalee, it'll just take a second for you to prove to yourself that I'm lying, to expose me as a fraud, as some cruel, wicked bastard--"

His throat seized on the last word, then his jaw went rigid. For one split second, she thought he would pull away, retreating entirely.

He didn't. His grip on the back of her neck tightened and he drew her roughly to him, his mouth relentless in claiming the kiss he had been trying to coax out of her.

Her arms, trapped between them, pushed upward. Her hands molded around his face as she tried to pull back. His hard mouth softened, the heat of his lips softening hers in turn. Her nails dented the skin along his hairline and at the edge of his jaw as indecision curled her hands.

She trembled against him when he took his first gentle bite of her bottom lip then sucked it past his teeth. He released his grip on her neck, his fingers sliding up to grab hold of the pony tail she had fashioned on the airplane. He pulled at the elastic band holding it in place as his other hand snaked its way to wrap lightly around her throat.

"Fuck," he growled, pausing so they could both gulp in air. "You have no idea how hard it was being in bed with you last night, unable to touch you."

Still fighting to catch her breath, Melanie tried to turn her head so he couldn't kiss her again. Declan laughed, the sound a low, rumbling warning. He cupped the underside of her chin, his other hand thoroughly knotted in her head.

His lips brushed against her ear. "You still think I'm acting?"

Her mouth quivered. She couldn't push an answer out. She felt exactly as she had predicted -- too wrapped up in the sensation of his touch that she was willing to believe anything he said.

"Mulling it over, huh?"

His lips brushed a soft, warm line down her neck that he retraced upwards with the tip of his tongue. With the grip he had on her face, he forced her mouth to return to his but didn't kiss her again. Instead, he tormented the edges of her lips, their corners, his touch light but magnetic.

And then he bit the fat pout of her bottom lip and sucked on it. His hand moved down, back to her throat for a few seconds before firmly cupping one of Melanie's swollen breasts. She gasped at the contact. Her nipples, already hard tipped, began to throb. Her pussy took up the same pulsing rhythm. Her mouth shaped and reshaped itself as Declan continued to almost, but never quite, kiss her.

A frustrated whimper bubbled up her throat.

"Baby," he tormented. "If I didn't know better, I'd think I had your pussy all wet and achy."

Melanie whimpered again, this time the sound one of pleasure and anguish.

She was just a game to him, someone to hurt so he felt better about whatever issues he had with his father.

"Am I wrong?" he asked, chewing along the curve of her jaw and down her neck. His hand slipped from squeezing at her breast to push between her thighs and cup her mound. "Do you want me in here? Are you going to let my cock into this sweet pussy? Are you going to let my mouth taste it, let me bite and kiss and suck at your little pearl while my fingers fuck in and out of you?"

A shudder ran through Melanie. She came for the first time at Declan's touch, his dirty words and the images they provoked pushing her over the edge.

Sensing victory, he pulled back and cupped the sides of her face, his gaze searching her expression for confirmation that he had just won his little game.

"You believe me now?" he rasped.

He leaned forward, his mouth zeroing in on hers until she released a small cry and shook her head. There was no afterglow to what her body had experienced. She felt weak for having climaxed in his arms.

Weak and foolish.

Seeing the exit sign for the airport over his shoulder, she shook her head.

"Now I'll never believe you."